


Passing Through

by icarus_chained



Category: Original Work
Genre: Chance Meetings, Developing Friendships, Dragons, Fantasy, Fear, Forests, Gen, Ghosts, Help, Mercenaries, Mystery, Noblemen, Original Fiction, Partnership, Ruins, haunted forests, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 18:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: While on her way through the haunted greywoods after escaping a rather angry lordling, mercenary Halethe Longstrider stumbles across a gaunt, frightened runaway in an old ruin. He's not the worst thing she could have stumbled across, though. At least he isn't a haunt.





	Passing Through

**Author's Note:**

> Ah. Another random bit of a thing, because I felt like some fairytale fantasy type things. Take it with the usual caveat that it was written very much on a whim, and I **do not know** if it will be continued. *grins sheepishly*

There was something watching her from the ruin. Of course there was. An ancient, crumbling tower ruin in the midst of a haunted forest, of _course_ there was something lurking inside it. See, this was why people didn't venture into the greywoods alone. It was hard to sleep when there was no one else to stand watch for you, and you were, most definitely, going to _need_ someone to stand watch. 

Failing that, and Halethe had most definitely failed that, the best a body could do was pick easily fortified locations to rest in, trap everything around them when lying down, and try not to sleep all that much until the bulk of the forest was behind them. 

That was going wonderfully so far. She only _mildly_ wanted to stab anything that so much as twitched in her direction. A paragon of stamina and restraint, that was her.

She shouldn't have gone anywhere near the ruin. She had known that, even at the time. These were the greywoods, nothing good could come from anything somebody might have lived in once. Might have _died_ in once, more to the point. As easily fortified as the stonework might be, the haunts would undoubtedly make up for that illusion of defensibility in short order. She'd known that. Of course she had.

It was just that she'd had about seven hours of sleep in the past three days, and she'd _really wanted_ something that might once have qualified as a building around her for a change.

Ah well. Maybe actually stabbing something would get her blood flowing again, hmm?

The thing, whatever it was, haunt or bandit or something else again, was somewhere on the upper floors. Or at least it had been when she'd caught her glimpse of it, a flash of red-brown in the evening light, briefly visible at one of the overlooking windows. Red-brown and white, a flicker of rags and movement. She was thinking haunt, right enough. If it was a person, a living one, they were in amazingly poor shape to have survived the greywoods long. Though perhaps it was easier if the haunts could mistake you for one of them. One never knew.

The stairs had suffered badly for their long abandonment, large chunks and whole treads missing from the coil of stone steps that wound widdershins around the tower. Excellent. Haunts and ruins and treacherous footing on top of it all. A surfeit of joys were laid before her this evening. She took her time heading upwards. If the haunt wanted to leap out a window before she reached it, more power to it. She'd pick over the bones when she got back down. Otherwise, she'd reach it when she reached it, and no threat or promised reward was making her tromp up these stairs any faster than she was already going.

Holy _gods_ , she was tired. She'd trade that reward and just about anything else that lay to hand for five hours of uninterrupted sleep, she really would. But steady, Halethe. Steady. Make it up the steps, figure out what's spying on you, deal with whatever it is, and then maybe there'll be somewhere nice and small and defensible you can curl up in. There's a girl. Steady as we go.

The first floor wasn't in such bad shape, as ruins went. No holes in it, anyway. At least not in the floor. The architect who'd designed the stone vault under it must have been worth his price. The walls were a little worse for wear, though, particularly around the large window to the south. It looked almost as if something had reached in to grab something and taken part of the wall with it on the way back out. Which, these being the greywoods, was not entirely beyond the bounds of possibility. There were dragons rumoured to hunt the deep woods. She could well imagine one of those doing something like that. Some stupid idiot standing in front of the window, looking out over the trees in the sunset, and then a great jewelled claw punching through stone and glass and ripping them screaming out into the air. That must have been amusing. A wonderful story for some bard somewhere to earn his keep by.

The damage continued upwards from the window. Torn and collapsed stone, a great crack in the floor above. The stairs had curled mostly around the damage, but it didn't look good for the next floor up. And she was heading for the next floor up. This one was empty, and she could, just about, hear some faint clatter from above. Nervous now. Panicky. Maybe it _was_ a living person? Haunts wouldn't have much reason to fear, but could a living person really survive out here? Alone, dressed in rags, in a dragon-battered ruin?

Well, she was about to find out, wasn't she? Slowly. _Very_ slowly. These stairs were worse than the previous ones, and whoever it was above her might take it into their heads to start dropping things down them in an effort to help the stairs along. Slowly. Sword in the left hand, right hand anchored to the wall. Keep it steady, my love. Keep it slow.

The last floor was open to the evening sky, the roof and whatever floors might have been above it tumbled off to scatter the forest around them. She'd been sitting on some of it, when she'd caught that glimpse of movement above her. Bits of masonry were scattered around the half-ruined floor, some of them quite large. She caught sight of something scuttling back behind one of them as she cleared the stairs. A pair of boots, dark and badly scuffed, their owner clearly crouched down to try and shield themselves behind the masonry. Afraid, or luring her out onto the floor? Halethe cracked her neck, swapped her sword back into her right hand, and moved cautiously forward to find out.

She moved slowly, doing her best to be quiet. She kept one eye on the rest of the space, just in case there was more than just the one pair of boots to be worried about. Nothing immediately rushed out at her, though, and the thing behind the masonry did nothing more than shuffle away from the faint sound of her footsteps as she circled. She could hear breathing, now. Soft and ragged. Afraid. Definitely afraid.

Halethe stopped. Stopped circling, stopped moving entirely. She listened as the thing stilled too, still defiantly hidden behind the lump of stone. She listened to those soft, uneven breaths. Nothing else moved. She waited, for a little minute, to see if it might. To see if this was a trap, and those boots and their frightened owner the bait. But nothing moved. Nothing attacked. And tired as she was, unwise as it was, Halethe was not the sort to terrify strangers without something at least approaching a reason.

She crouched down, her sword held easily but slightly less threateningly in her hand, and gently called across to her new companion.

"Introductions might go easier if I could see you," she said softly. "I can promise I'm not inclined to attack unless attacked first. It's been a while since I've seen anyone in these god-cursed woods. Why don't you come out?"

A resounding silence greeted that. A _complete_ silence. The sound of breathing had stopped, her companion clearly holding their breath. In shock, perhaps. Or dread. Halethe didn't rush them. She wasn't rushing herself this evening, there was little enough reason to rush anyone else. Well. The failing light, perhaps, but they had time enough yet. Besides. There was only so long a body could hold their breath, wasn't there.

She heard the exhale almost in answer to the thought. Long. Shuddering. A body gathering the shreds of their courage. If they _had_ been surviving on their own out here, in these marvellous haunted forests, it might stand to reason that they had little enough of that left. She'd been here three days, and she was certainly nearing the end of hers. Her companion was made of sterner stuff, though. A boot scuffed, legs gathered under someone. It would seem her companion had some courage remaining after all.

She stared at him, when he stood. It was a him. It took her a moment to confirm it, the long tangle of hair a distraction, but it was mostly definitely a him. He was thin, nearly gaunt, his skin the sort of pale that bordered on translucent. The snarl of hair was snow white around those pale features, the eyes grey and icy. No wonder she'd thought him a haunt. It was the clothes that completed the image, though. A hose and tunic, deep red, though stained and faded to brown in places. A magnificent long-sleeved houppeland, well made and tailored, though ripped and ragged and clutched close for warmth now. A nobleman's costume. The remnants of finery. The perfect picture of some poor betrayed ghost in our bard's tale.

Holy gods. What on earth was the man _doing_ out here? And how _long_ had he been out here? Because that kind of wear and tear didn't happen overnight, and that tangle of hair hadn't sprouted in a day either. 

Though he hadn't managed a beard yet. Maybe the gods just hadn't blessed him with that ability?

"... Who are you?" he asked. Well. Whispered, really, his voice a soft and ruined thing, the accent odd and nearly flattened. He held himself warily, his shoulders hunched and legs bent, ready to move at a second's notice. He stayed behind his lump of masonry as well, keeping the stone firmly between him and her. A frightened man, oh yes, and a halfway sensible one as well, even if he had let himself be seen and then run upwards instead of out. Maybe he had hoped she'd think him just a haunt.

"... Halethe," she answered, after a thoughtful moment. She eased back up to standing herself, keeping the motions slow and steady. No rush, no hurry. No need to startle anyone. "Halethe Longstrider, at your service. I'm what you'd call a champion. Or a mercenary, if you're less romantically inclined. I was, ah. Passing through. On the way to Ghilessal. Yourself?"

One pale eyebrow arched at that. " _Passing through,_ " he repeated, caution momentarily laid aside in favour of scepticism so thick she could have thrown it off the tower and walked back down to ground level on it. Her own eyebrows winged up, a half-delighted smile flickering before she could stop herself. Possibly with a few too many teeth in it. He flinched, a little bit. He didn't back down though. Which was fair enough, really. These were the _greywoods_. He did in fact have a point.

"Passing through," she agreed, with a bit of an edge to it. Point or no point, she hadn't had sleep in three days and hadn't really been in the best of moods before that. If he wanted to fence words she could most certainly oblige him. "Meaning, in this case, _cutting_ through, possibly unadvisedly, in an effort to avoid being hunted down and strung up by a rabid lordling with more money than sense and a distinct dislike of being showed up by a girl. Although why he decided to challenge said girl to a duel when he barely knew which end of a sword to point at the enemy is a different question." She smiled with all her teeth. "You needn't fear, my lord. I do know where I am. Do _you_?"

He flinched away, hunching in on himself. Oh. That had ... maybe been nastier than he deserved. He clearly hadn't come out here any more willingly than she had, given that he looked to have run with the clothes on his back and not much in the way of weapons at all. At least she'd brought a _sword_ into the greywoods. He hadn't even managed travelling clothes.

Halethe sighed heavily, and put her sword away with one last glance around the tower top. Knowing her luck, this would be the point where he suddenly sprouted a weapon, but if it was that or him constantly flinching then she'd punch his brains out when it came to it and finish him off with his own dagger. All she had was light armour, but it was more than he had, and he was skin and bones besides. She probably wouldn't even have to hit him that hard.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said, scrubbing a hand through her hair and moving a careful step closer to him. He blinked warily at her, clearly startled by both the words and the gesture. Halethe shrugged awkwardly. "It's been a very long week, and I'm in a very bad mood. Being chased off someone's lands and into the greywoods was not my finest moment. Given that you're out here without a weapon I'm not going to blame you for being cautious, but I really am just ... _passing through_. Of the two of us, your errand is likely a great deal more mysterious than mine. Not to mention your identity, as well."

He flinched again, his eyes darting downwards in shame. Or fear. Mostly fear. He worried his hands over the lump of masonry in front of him, his shoulders a tight hunch of flinching readiness. Oh yes, Halethe thought. Yes, he had run, hadn't he. Alone and with the clothes on his back. He'd run from somewhere, just like her, and it had been bad enough for his health that even the greywoods had looked a better option, haunts and dragons and all. And his hadn't been a calculated retreat, like hers. No armour, no sword, no consideration of options. He'd run the first chance he'd gotten, in whatever silly costume he'd happened to be wearing. He'd run his clothes to rags and his hair to snarls, and fetched up here in the middle of nowhere, hiding in a ruined tower and hoping no one would find him.

How long _had_ he been here? Did he even have food? Judging by the way his cheekbones were nearly poking out through his skin it didn't look like it. What had he been doing, hiding up here and hoping dinner would fall out of the sky?

Gods. Holy gods. This was a complication she really hadn't needed. A real surfeit of joys tonight, yes indeed. But there was no hope for it, was there? It wasn't like she could _leave_ him here, now was it?

And besides. These were the greywoods. She had said she could use somebody to stand watch, hadn't she.

She sighed again, as heavy as the first time, and moved over to stand right at the other side of his piece of rock. He leaned back, instantly and instinctively, but he didn't _step_ back. As tight and terrified as he was, he didn't back away. He glanced at her from underneath his eyebrows, wary and waiting, but he had enough scraps of courage remaining to stand his ground. She did like that. Give her a few more hours of sleep, and she might even like the scepticism too.

"Look," she said again. Softer now. Nice and easy. Soothing. "I don't need to know what you're running from. If it hounded you into the greywoods I can guess it was bad enough. But I'm not sure you can stay here. I don't know if you've noticed, but you're out in a haunted forest, in a tower that looks like it was attacked by a dragon, and you don't even have a sword. Or a cloak, for that matter. You don't have to tell me who you are or what you're running from. You don't have to tell me anything at all. I think you do need to consider, though. Even if death would be a better option than what's behind you ... do you really want it to be the only one? Because, no offence, but I'm not sure you can survive on your own out here much longer."

His jaw clenched at that, a flash of helpless anger in his eyes. They were stormy, when he let them be, a wild, angry sort of grey. Whatever he'd been through, there was a glimmer or two of something strong and defiant about him still. Something that didn't _like_ hiding, that didn't _like_ being helpless. Maybe it was just that she'd always been contrary, but Halethe rather enjoyed the sight of it.

"... And you'll help me, will you?" he hissed softly. "Some stranger you met in the woods. Out of the goodness of your heart, you'll ... what? Give me some food for the night? Escort me somewhere safe?"

And this wasn't sceptical, this was outright disbelieving. Violently, virulently so. This was a low, vicious hiss of challenge from a man nearly past the point of caring what resulted from it. Not quite, of course. Not just yet. There was fear still lurking in those eyes, readiness in the clenched tightness of his shoulders. That was to the good, though. That was a desire to live, and the remnants of a readiness to fight for it.

That was, at the end of the day, something Halethe could very easily respect.

"Yes," she said bluntly. Watching his eyebrows flicker upwards. "Yes, I'll help you. Proper food will have to wait until tomorrow, I'm not hunting in _these_ woods at night, but I've still got some dried stuff you can have. If you don't mind taking a watch we can camp here for tonight. It seems solid enough downstairs. And then, _yes_. In the morning I can help escort you to anywhere you need to go. I was aiming for Ghilessal, but let's be honest, my priority was getting away from what's behind me too. Plans made on the fly are easily changed. We can go somewhere. Anywhere. I can find a way to make money wherever we end up. There's rarely a shortage of work for mercenaries. Especially around the greywoods."

Truth, all of it. She was very good at what she did, idiot lordlings and their grudges aside. She had a list of deeds to her name, honestly won, that would earn her work anywhere she needed some. If he wanted to march right through to the other end of the greywoods and come out the other side, it wouldn't be that much of a hardship. So long as he agreed to stand watch, at least.

He blinked at her. His mouth opened, soundlessly, and closed again, his face a picture of blank shock. Wariness, startlement. And then, underneath it, a thin, painful edge of hope.

"How can you ..." he whispered. "You ... you don't know anything. You can't promise that. You don't know who I am. You don't know who ... who might ..."

"Come after you?" she finished softly. He flinched once more, as good as a nod. She shook her head wryly. "You're right. I don't know that. You could tell me, maybe. If you wanted to. You could warn me. That can wait, though. It doesn't matter yet. The greywoods are enough of a problem to worry about first, and it's going to take you a while to decide how much you want to trust me. If you want to trust me at all. It's all right. I don't need to know that much yet. I know enough to make my decision as it stands."

His eyes narrowed. "Oh?" he asked, with ripe suspicion, and Halethe grinned at him a little bit. Just a tiny bit. She couldn't help it.

"Oh indeed," she said, her teeth bright in the twilight for a second. Then she sobered. He did deserve an answer. She couldn't blame him for the wariness. "I know you're alone, for a start. I know you don't have much in the way of survival ability, if the gauntness in your cheeks is anything to go by. That means you probably unlikely to try and kill me until I've gotten you somewhere more civilised, so it should be safe enough to accompany you at least in the greywoods. I also know you're not particularly inclined to violence. People used to having to fight will find a weapon, no matter how rapidly they're forced to run. You didn't. Your first instinct is to hide, not to fight, even if you wish it was otherwise. I doubt you've ever killed anyone, not by violence, unless you managed to strike in desperation and fear for your life. And you also ... Forgive me, but you move with the expectation of being hurt, not of doing the hurting. If you killed me in my sleep it would be out of fear, not a random desire to murder someone. Maybe you're hiding something, maybe you're hiding something very dark indeed, but you don't really strike me as the sort who's dangerous to the people around him. Not by his own choice, anyway. Will you tell me I'm wrong?"

Of course, if he _was_ the sort to be dangerous to the people around him, then he absolutely would not say so. He would play pathetic for all it was worth and then some, and stab her in the back the moment the right opportunity occurred. She didn't think so, though. She had good instincts. Always had. Even the blasted lordling who'd chased her in here hadn't been a failure of instincts, just a failure of patience. He really didn't strike her as an evil man. Just a desperate one, who was very, very tired of being afraid, and in dire need of several solid meals and a good night's sleep.

And she could, just this minute, empathise with quite a lot of that.

He stared at her for a long minute. His hands had drawn back against his sides, curled into fists, but it was that helpless anger again, not any threat of violence. It was the fact that she was right, and he desperately, desperately didn't want her to be. There wasn't any helping it, though. Not yet. He knew it a whole lot better than she did. His hands loosened, after a minute. His shoulders slumped. The anger leaked away, and left just wary, weary exhaustion in its wake.

"I wouldn't hurt you," he said tiredly. "I don't think I could, but I wouldn't anyway. I didn't ... I ran. I didn't kill anyone. I just ran."

Halethe smiled tiredly at him. "I wouldn't be ashamed of that," she prompted gently. "There's no shame in having failed to hurt someone. And managing to escape is more than some people manage. Running out into the greywoods. Managing not to die. Those aren't small accomplishments, you know."

They weren't, either. Not by a long shot. Running alone, unarmed, and in the sort of rags that declared him a desperate nobleman? That he hadn't died, been kidnapped or been killed long before she'd reached him was nothing short of a miracle, and not a feat to be ashamed of by any means. The gods or luck had clearly been on his side, but that didn't mean he hadn't had to scramble for it the entire way. He wasn't doing that badly. He wasn't doing so badly at all. 

He grimaced faintly at the compliment. Suspicious, suspicious all the way, but he softened anyway in spite of himself. Too tired to do much fighting. He hesitated, a second, and then ... held out his hand. Gaunt and shaking and tired.

"Mareton," he said, as she took it very gently in hers. "You can call me Mareton. It won't give you much. Almost no one knows it. He will, if he catches up to me, but no one besides that. I am ... I'm not a murderer. Whatever else, I'm not that. I have something he wants. Something he's been taking for a long time. I ... I would die rather than let him have it again."

Halethe winced, blew out a silent breath. Ouch. Well. That sounded good, didn't it? She squeezed his hand gently. Held it firmly and carefully in hers.

"Then we'll have to see that he doesn't, won't we?" she said, with careful sincerity. He only squinted warily. Heh. No fool, then. It would take more than some promises and a lack of immediate violence to win _this_ one's trust. Fair enough, though. All to the good. "Not to worry, Mareton. I'm not the sort to sell people. Besides myself, anyway, and that strictly in a professional capacity. Don't worry. Whatever it is you're afraid I'm going to ask of you, I can tell you now that it's probably unlikely."

He smiled. Crookedly, wearily, but he did. Well. That was a nice triumph, wasn't it?

"You'll forgive me if I reserve judgement on that," he commented softly. "The last person I trusted is the man currently hunting me. But you are ... You do seem reasonable, Halethe. Even in as bad a mood as you are."

She barked out a laugh at that one. _Reasonable_ , he said. Like she hadn't babied him along every step of the way, and that _after_ he'd scared the hell out of her in a haunted forest and made her climb a dilapidated tower to get to him. Reasonable! Well, all right then!

But still. Still. He was an unarmed, hunted, starving man in a haunted forest, and she'd come clattering up her in all her armour and with her sword out in her hand, her mood piss-poor from start to finish. So. The man might have a point, at that. A little one. Only tiny.

"I did _explain_ the bad mood," she grumbled lightly. "I'm running on an hour and a half of sleep, here. And you certainly didn't help the fact skulking around looking like the ghost in every bard's tale. Shut up, Mareton, will you? And come on. We need to get back down most of this tower before it's too dark to manage it without breaking both our necks."

Which was, now that she was paying attention to it rather than fussing over the idiot man, a rather pertinent problem. She hadn't even noticed she'd started squinting, had she? She hadn't even noticed there was barely any light left to see by. And that was outdoors, out under the sky. Going back down those bloody stairs into the darkness of the mostly whole rooms was going to be a _joy_. They were going to have to creep their way down next to blind, feeling the way out as they went. It was going to take _hours_.

Mareton, it seemed, had a similar thought, at least judging by the grimace. He glanced over at the deeper shadow that was the start of the stairs behind her, and then looked sheepishly back at her.

"The floor below us is mostly solid," he offered, with a tiny hint of amusement. "We could just go that far, sleep for the night, and work the rest out in the morning?"

There was a slight hunch to his shoulders as he said it, just the faint start of a cringe in case she might hit him, but there'd been that glimmer of humour as well. Rueful amusement, that hint of a tease. And besides. He wasn't wrong either. It was just about the only sensible option either of them had left at the moment. Halethe sighed, and nodded regretfully.

"No help for it, I suppose," she said tiredly. "You go first, hmm? I suspect you're more familiar with the place that I am, and no offence but I'm not sure I want you behind me on those stairs. They worry me enough on their own. I've got a few bites left in my belt pouch. Not really what you'd call _dinner_ , but it's the best I've got. Should be enough for two. We can flip a coin or something for first watch after that."

"Have you _got_ a coin?" he asked sceptically. "And if you have, are you really sure it's wise to go throwing it around in the dark? Don't worry about it. If you feed me first I'll stand watch for however long you want. If, ah. If you'd trust me to, anyway."

An odd hesitance there. Had it bothered him, to have her bluntly weighing the chances of him killing her? Or was it just that trust was so very much a foreign concept in general right now? Eh. Either way. She'd had her mind made up for ages now. The worst he could do was kill her and at this point so long as he did do it _in her sleep_ , without waking her for it, then she nearly wasn't going to care.

It had been a very, _very_ long week.

"You know what?" she said, shuffling her way around the rock and reaching out to tug him gently after her. He went along with it. Stiffly and carefully and vibrating with tension, but he did. She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to grin at him in the last of the light. "Right now if you wanted to grab my sword and rob me blind with it I nearly couldn't give a shit. I don't think you will, though. You don't strike me that way. So. Down one floor, food, and then I'm going to sleep for five hours and you can wake me up at the end of it if you feel like it, or run away and/or kill me if you don't. How's that sound, hmm? All right?"

He blinked rapidly, and then huffed out a soft, exasperated breath. "Did I say you were reasonable?" he asked lightly. "I'm not sure why I thought that. But, ah. As you say, my lady. I always listen to the grumpy lady with the sword who might feed me. As you say."

Halethe snorted. "A wise policy!" she said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "Very wise indeed. Now. After you, my friend. Dinner's waiting, such as it is."

After all, she thought. When it came down to it. He wasn't the worst sort of thing you could stumble across in the greywoods, was he?

At least he wasn't a haunt.


End file.
